


Honor Among Us

by Gato_322



Series: Thief/Guard AU [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Guard!Adora, Knight!Adora, Thief!Catra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25644688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gato_322/pseuds/Gato_322
Summary: “...Catra.” The word comes out in a rush of a breath and Adora removes her helmet like she always does when Catra makes herself known. “...I kinda thought it’d be you.”“That’s what you said last time,” Catra purrs, approaching the guard. She’s all shiny metal, unnecessary pins, and glitter but Catra is entranced regardless. She’s learned to understand how well Adora looks in armor. “...and the time before that. And the time before that--”---Adora is meant to uphold an honor code, but Catra is different. Her status as a thief doesn't mean she can't change. Adora can help her change. They can be friends again, let things go back to normal.Until Glimmer orders Catra's execution.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: Thief/Guard AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924033
Comments: 21
Kudos: 230





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thief and Guard AU seemed kinda fun so here I am~

Catra is always careful now.

It was never an innate trait; her bullheaded-ness and rowdy demeanor got her in enough trouble to teach it to her. Adora’s gentle tactics and demonstrations meant she’d learned it well. Not that it changed her entire personality: impulsivity and rage crafted every move, but stealth and caution edged it.

Not to mention, it was part of the job description anyway.

She’s pacing through the streets of Bright Moon, the warm summer breeze flapping her hood, sleek black fabric pulled over her wild mane of hair she never learned to brush. No one pays her any mind; with the intrusion of criminals, rogues, and ne'er do wells from the Thieves’ Guild, Catra had noticed Bright Moon civilians kept to themselves a lot more lately.

Her presence is one that isn’t invited, but Shadow Weaver’s orders keep her coming back anyway. Not that she really  _ needed  _ to rob unsuspecting civilians for their money. The Thieves’ Guild was rolling in newfound wealth since Hordak had started sending in more of his cronies, and Catra’s high status meant she had enough food in her belly and brand new gloves every month. But it was about the power, the presence, the sheer fact that Catra got away almost every single time. Out of every five criminal acts she’d be caught once, and out of the cell before the guards even got her shackles off.

Of course, her escape tactics dwindled once she had a new mission. A pretty new plaything to bat around, to intimidate, to flirt with as her one source of entertainment that didn’t consist of strangers freaking out.

And Catra figured it was time to pay her plaything a visit.

She ducks into the marketplace, thrumming with energy like a living entity, the people around her working like bees in a hive and she always had to admire how it worked almost as seamlessly as the Guild. A merchant calls out his wares, a crooked stool bears jewelry with shining stones of all colors of the rainbow, and she can catch the smell of fresh fruit on the other end. 

Crowds were best to hide and relax in, without worry that someone would accuse her of suspicious activity. And she wasn’t suspicious, not generally. Her cloak matches the ones that others wear to keep their head out of the sun, falling just above her elbows, with a small silver pin attaching it to the modest shirt underneath. Her thick black gloves allow more grip and less slippage, as well as access to unsheath deadly claws as a last resort. Her cargo pants are riddled with pockets, ready for any wealth she can slip in. She lacks any shoes; they only slow her down.

She crosses her arms as she stops to survey a tabletop full of maps, Bright Moon’s dead in the center and the brightest of the bunch. Bright Moon always felt  _ different  _ from the rest of the kingdoms of Etheria, their magic unmatched, their defenses forged by Mother Nature herself, like the kingdom was special and deserved to be treated accordingly. Catra snorts and walks away, knowing full well that she could tear that idea right down from its perch. The Guild’s slow overtaking of the city was enough to start threatening the queen, and Hordak had warned it was only a matter of time before the tension reached its climax.

As Catra delves further into the flurry of people, of families and workers and children and possible thieves like herself, she doesn’t feel ready for the bloody battle that’d ensue. She’s caught snippets of it from Shadow Weaver and the other Master Thieves, of battle strategies and utilities of their newest recruits and the utility of herself. She doubted them. Hordak was crafty, but he was also relentless and impatient, much like his predecessor who’d long been murdered before the Thieves’ Guild built its reputation. Shadow Weaver, in striking contrast, was slow and methodical and a nuisance to plan things out with. Catra loathed every meeting and made it a point to lurk in the corners and occasionally growl out a suggestion.

But she also wasn’t one to question how things were run in the Guild. The place was her home, her job, her livelihood, and even if she internally gagged at the demented look of Hordak’s face, she liked staying  _ alive  _ and wouldn’t bother him with anything beyond offering her services.

The stress overwhelms her more than she can handle, and plucking pretty jewelry from people’s pockets isn’t quelling it anymore. She’s found something else; and it’s unfortunate, considering how much effort it takes to not make things overly suspicious.

She emerges from the crowd, the bustle of the marketplace dying down as she approaches the quieter side of town. Residential, small permanent businesses, and less livelier as the days wound down.

It’s also the main patrol area of a certain guard she knows.

The residential area is large, a maze of streets and alleys and pathways overladen with giant oak trees and flapping flags of Bright Moon’s stupid insignias. The homes are the farthest from the castle, as if Queen Angella wanted her civilians as far as possible, and it’d be no surprise considering how much they were dealing with. Catra loved the area for its shade and winding corners, perfect to memorize and use to her advantage. And as much as she liked bathing in sunspots, the shadows and corridors as the sun went down beckoned her. 

Once she knows she’s in the favored area, she catches sight of a target. 

It’s a merchant, cloaked in middle-class robes and lugging a cart piled with chairs. Only two other people roam the streets, aside from the one lone guard standing in the corner staring into the sky. Catra smiles, crooking a claw against her cloak to adjust it.

She speeds up, her tail thrashing in anticipation as she casts a final glance to the guard. A single strand of blonde hair poking from below the helmet confirms her theory, and she begins. 

With a running start, she leaps and lands on top of the cart with a heavy  _ thud.  _ The vendor screeches in surprise, flailing to the ground. She stares down, imposing and threatening, and the vendor immediately flings out his money without so much as a word.

Catra had that effect on people. The ability to instantly demand trinkets with just her split-colored eyes, and Weaver praised it on more than one occasion. 

“Aww,” Catra purrs, swiping up the bag of gold coins. They jingle in their pouch, heavy in her palm, and she smirks down at the vendor. “Did I scare ya? You know, you really should know better than to just have your  _ goods  _ out in the open.” She ignores the slight croak from disuse all day, but the merchant is already scrambling to his feet.

“Guards!” The vendor trips against the cobble, but gets to his feet and takes off down the street. “Guards!”

Catra tucks the pouch in her pocket before she begins to run.

It doesn’t take long for her to get followed. Bright Moon steadily dwindles on soldiers for afternoon shifts, ever since the Horde became rampant closer to dayfall; but they compensate, by placing stronger brutes and Catra knows exactly who’s bound to follow. And she can take down any feeble little page or squire with their shaky sword skills and innocent eyes, but the beefy soldiers of the kingdom are more fun.

As she takes off down a corridor, hearing the clanks of the guard’s armor behind her, she throws back a quick glance as she turns a sharp corner. The voice behind her is female, ringing out in her ears like a song she hasn’t played in forever. Catra throws a smirk and keeps going.

She vaults over a lonesome cart, bounding out into the street again and disappearing down another alley. Last thing she needs is to catch sight of any reinforcements, and the guard behind her keeps up effortlessly even as Catra maneuvers the confusing twists and turns between the buildings. 

Finally, she’s ready to stop. She jumps onto a discarded barrel, kicks off the wall, and digs her claws into the edge of the nearest building. With a heave and unrelenting burn in her muscles, she vaults onto the roof.

The guard follows.

Catra flicks her tail, watching for a second as the guard launches herself upward with wild jump, clambering for a foothold as she scrabbles up to the roof. Catra stays wary as she scoots to the edge of the rooftop.

Kneeling into a fighting stance, her fingers close over the handle of her dagger. The guard’s heavy steps echo out above the wind, and she’s panting but not deterred. Catra releases the dagger when she catches ocean blue eyes staring back from below the helmet.

“Hey, Adora.”

Adora jolts, nearly dropping her newly unsheathed sword at the words. Catra can’t help the smile that pops up on her expression of utter surprise. Their encounters like this totaled to a whopping eight, but Adora always looked taken-aback every time.

“...Catra.” The word comes out in a rush of a breath and Adora removes her helmet like she always does when Catra makes herself known. “...I kinda thought it’d be you.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Catra purrs, approaching the guard. She’s all shiny metal, unnecessary pins, and  _ glitter  _ but Catra is entranced regardless. She’s learned to understand how well Adora looks in armor. “...and the time before that. And the time before  _ that--” _

“Okay.” Adora waves the subject away, letting loose a small quirk of a smile. “Rooftops is really your thing, huh?” 

“Not much risk. Cats always land on their feet.” Catra gleams, brushing her tail against the underside of Adora’s arm. She’s missed it, missed  _ this.  _ Not only just Adora’s radiant smile and stupidly handsome armor, but the underlying danger of these missions weren’t lost to Catra. Shadow Weaver was yet to know that Adora was a  _ guard.  _ She was also yet to know Catra willingly ignored her missions to meet her, and that tidbit of info would be enough to earn a dagger in the throat.

It was tantalizing and risky and electric, like the energy that seemed to pass between the two of them after such a satisfying chase. 

Adora’s fondness eventually falls away. Catra always hoped,  _ stupidly,  _ that one day Adora wouldn’t have her head shoved so far into workaholic clouds; that maybe they could sit down and talk like normal goddamn people without the weird obligation to get Catra in cuffs in the end. But Adora is predictable and never-changing, and Catra steps back once she senses the incoming lecture.

“You robbed a man, and you’re trespassing.” Adora’s eyes resemble steel, something harsh and unwavering in those stormy blue irises. Catra stares back, unmoved, trying to ignore the rising anger that’s settled a permanent home in her chest.

“That was kinda the point.” She flashes her incisors and Adora huffs.

“Catra, you keep showing up, and this isn’t good for you.”

Catra’s tail flicks, dragging against the brick of the rooftop. “What? Are you  _ worried  _ for me?” A fiery rage threatens to bubble up at the  _ audacity  _ but reservation is the first thing Catra had to learn before she set out on her own. She only narrows her eyes, as if she can melt Adora’s stupid brain with her own gaze.

“I...I don’t know.” Adora, of course, falters a bit and she lowers the sword just an inch. “Catra, you know what they do to thieves who become  _ problems. _ ”

“Aw, yes. The princesses still haven’t figured out anything better, huh?” A sharp heavy blade, a cheering crowd, an unholy sight that could only come from such a situation. “Gotta squash out all those petty thieves, huh? That’s the only way to get rid of vermin.” Catra ghosts a hand over her throat and Adora winces.

“Please stop doing this.”

“I don’t have a choice, you know.” Catra’s tone turns bitter, like she’s tasted a fruit that’s gone rotten, and really this entire relationship has; the rekindling is possible, the bond still tugs at her incessantly, but Adora is  _ so far gone,  _ Catra feels  _ exhausted  _ trying so much. “You did.”

Adora’s face crumples a bit, but she’s persistent, and annoyingly so. “I have a plan, Catra. You just have to trust me. And I can get you out of this, and--”

“And then  _ what?” _

“...well, I haven’t thought that far.” Adora puts on her helmet, concealing that soft blonde hair that Catra uses to identify her every single time. “I have to take you in. I have a partner down the street who saw me chasing you but--”

“Whatever.” Catra pulls away from the ledge, making a show of bowing to Adora with her tail flicking between her legs. “Oh, your honor, I am deeply humbled to be arrested for the honor of Queen Angella. I’m sure she can’t  _ wait  _ to slice my head off because I’ve inconvenienced her.” She swipes a tongue over an incisor and smirks at the uncomfortable look on Adora’s face.

“Stop that,” Adora huffs, sounding frustrated and annoyed, but she gently takes Catra’s wrists into her hands and places the cuffs.

\---

The walk towards the holding cells is always uneventful. Catra knows better than to fight or make a scene, and even then, the excuse to pester Adora is too enticing compared to wasting her energy in escaping. 

Adora’s never rough or belittling, not like the other guards Catra has had the misfortune of running into. Of course, it could be Adora’s nature; that innate voice in her dumb blonde head that she’d come from a similar background as all the crooks and thieves and criminals she locks up on a daily basis. But Catra follows the idea that Adora has a fondness for her, an intention to end up in the same spot every time a visit felt needed, and maybe it’s wishful thinking.

Catra never follows the script in her head. The first time they reunited had been chaotic and stressful and emotional and Catra had managed to leave without getting apprehended and Adora was  _ willing  _ to let her go. Then Adora got in trouble. Then Catra appeared a second time, intending to unleash her rage and frustration and shattered feelings but Adora was so friendly and calming and took her in with the intention to protect her all the way. Catra had been let go just fine; and she realized she had a friend who could pull the strings to get what she wanted.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to take that information to Hordak.

Having Adora as an insider meant Catra could manipulate. She still got put in the holding cells now, but Adora grew more desperate to help, more vulnerable as the crimes stacked up and Catra’s status grew worse. She could get Adora wrapped around a clawed finger, use her to an advantage,  _ take her back, please Adora, let me take you back home. _

But Adora was prideful and committed. It didn’t take an idiot to see that, and Catra could especially tell when Adora locked her up with everyone else instead of just letting her go anyway. Relaying the fact she was on the opposite side meant the Thieves’ Guild could hurt her, do something beyond what Catra wanted, and the whole situation felt remarkably fragile in her hands.

“I have to talk to the captain about you.”

Catra’s yanked from her inner turmoil as they walk down the street, Adora’s hand placed gently on her back and the other wrapped around cuffed wrists. Catra tilts her head back to glance at her, unamused.

“You don’t  _ have  _ to.” They sidestep a group of children, spawn of merchants judging from their well-pressed clothes and dusty hands. “...how come you’re not captain? I would’ve thought you’d be running the show, with that big bad horse and fancy hair.”

“It’s not fancy!” Adora shuffles a bit as they cross through stalls, cutting through the marketplace Catra had slunk through only an hour prior. She adjusts her hands, one of them brushing against Catra’s “slippery” fingers, and the touch makes her hackles raise a bit. “They, um. They offered me the job, but I declined.”

“You  _ declined?” _

“I still have a lot to learn!” Adora’s voice nearly squeaks and Catra bites back a laugh. “I’m pretty advanced in sword-fighting but my shield skills need work and I still keep getting lost in these goddamn streets even after 9 years…” She pauses. “Besides, Bow really wanted it. I can be a good captain when I’m 100% ready for anything.”

“You’ll never be 100% ready,” Catra intones. “Not all of us have the luxury of putting a pause button on our job, you know.”

“Catra.” Adora’s voice is stern, but holds an underlying desperation only Catra can pick up. A silent plea to stop, that Catra had lacked for 10 fucking years and suddenly had to deal with for weeks on end now. She doesn’t back down that easy. As a true trait of a thief, Catra finds the weakness and sinks her claws in anyway.

“If you were a captain, I wouldn’t be one theft away from getting my head sliced off.” She twirls her tail, brushing against Adora’s thigh. She doesn’t look at the expression that follows; the resulting silence is tense, and filled with the bustle of the street.

When they reach the main office, Adora steers Catra with a clamped hand on her shoulder. But instead of descending the steps into dank cells, they make a detour. Catra opens her mouth to protest, but Adora spins her around so fast, she’s disoriented enough to forget what she wants to say.

“Look.” Adora points to a bulletin board on the wall, its surface absolutely littered with papers and pins. There’s posters of upcoming events, a sheet praising specific guards for their merits with rewarded pins underneath, and a shitton of glitter. Catra wrinkles her nose, but takes notice of a specific portion of the board, reserved for Wanted posters _._

There’s a handful of people she recognizes and a lot more that she doesn’t. Of course, Kyle couldn’t make it under the guards’ radar; he never was good at espionage. Huntara peeks out, her poster older than the rest, and Catra quirks a smile knowing she’s safe and sound in her hiding spot. She wasn’t friendly with more than 0.1% of the Thieves’ Guild, focused only on the mission and herself.

Then she sees it.

Adora’s staring right at it, and all it takes is to follow her gaze. A similar bleak white poster, with Catra’s scruffy portrait directly in the center. The bounty on her head is generous, and the picture isn’t completely accurate (her ears  _ do not  _ look that fluffy) but she’s still relatively recognizable to anyone who pays enough attention. Her eyes roam to the very bottom. In small script, it says, “Member of the Horde” along with a gold-rimmed stamp in the corner.

“The fuck is that?” Her voice sounds husky as she drowns any feelings of panic. If Shadow Weaver found out she’d fucked up and had a  _ Wanted poster,  _ everything would be shattered.

“A couple of the other guards kept reporting seeing you around. I didn’t really...have a part in making it, Catra, I promise.”

Catra shakes her head, yanking her shoulder from Adora’s grip as she bends down a bit. “No, not that. What the fuck is the Horde?”

“Oh. Um, that’s what we’ve named your Thieves’ Guild.” Adora gently returns her hand, leading the two of them away. Catra growls, but her eyes don’t leave the stupid portrait of herself, a frazzled criminal who was dangerous and a threat and  _ reckless  _ to let herself be prepared to be stuck up on walls around the city.

It takes a second to realize Adora’s still talking.

“--Dak is the leader, so I suggested we call it the Horde, because there’s apparently smaller Thieves’ Guilds around all of Etheria and we kept getting mixed up on affiliations. Your poster isn’t out there, yet. It needs to get printed. Soon.”

Catra huffs, curling her fingers into her palm and then wincing when she realizes too late that her claws came unsheathed. She should’ve shredded it. She should’ve torn it to pieces, destroyed all the evidence that encapsulated her failure at the only job she’s ever known.

_ It’s all Adora’s fault. _

She should’ve stopped heading so blatantly into public. She would’ve, if Adora wasn’t so goddamn magnetic, if the sight of her easy-going smile wasn’t the only thing getting Catra through the day anymore.

“Catra, it’s getting bad.” Adora pauses before they head down the steps, and her voice drops. “If you have a poster and a bounty, that means-”

“Right. My pretty little head.” Catra flips hair off her face, cracking a crick in her neck that she very much intends to keep intact. “Well, maybe if you’d stop being so good at your job, you would’ve have to worry.”

“Same to you,” Adora snaps, and they descend the steps. The temperature drops almost instantly, and Catra brings her shoulders up a bit, practically willing her hood to come back up over her head.

They pass the endless rows of cells, and the noise and smell assaults all of Catra’s heightened senses. The very first cell holds pick-pocket children, and they’re huddled in a corner playing some kind of game. The rest hold the resident criminals, rogues, thieves, scammers, and snake oil salesmen. A harmonica mingles with overlapping voices and sneering shouts towards Adora as she passes.

The murderers, assassins, and true threats to the kingdom aren’t anywhere down here, Catra knows. They get special residence in the reinforced cells even further down, a mysterious environment nobody holds any knowledge about until they make it down there. The thought makes Catra’s skin crawl and she shakes off the feeling as they reach a cell that’s not overly filled.

Adora moves to unlock the door, and the criminals inside barely spare a glance. Some shuffle closer to the back of the room. Catra doesn’t notice as she casts Adora a glance. “Hey muscle-girl, forgetting something?” She shoots Adora a smirk, shaking her upper body so the bag of coins jingle in her cloak.

Adora groans, well aware of the game Catra plays. “Alright, Catra,  _ where is it? _ ”

“Find it,” Catra practically purrs.

The first time had been more fun. The dusted blush that covered Adora’s face had been well worth getting crammed into a cell, but now Adora looks too distracted to fall for any flirtations. She roams hands over Catra’s waist, before ducking under the cloak and plucking the bag of coins out with ease.

“Ah, fuck you,” Catra huffs, and Adora returns her own smirk before gently pushing her into the cell. “I’m gonna speak with the captain, but  _ please  _ don’t cause trouble.”

Catra doesn’t reply. She pushes her way past mingling thieves and rogues around her, sitting herself on the only spare bench in the room, the cuffs on her wrist digging into her skin. A couple of her fellow captives share the same fate, but a few have the freedom to wring their hands as Adora slams the door shut again.

“I’m gonna come back, Catra.” 

Catra refuses to look back. She’s heard it before.

Adora lingers a second too long and then she’s gone. Catra can feel her tail flicking wildly against her back and she wills it steady.

“What. Was that?!” A rogue emerges from the shadows at her side, and Catra wonders if this is a new record for how quick she wants to drop-kick someone.

She finally lifts her head to see everyone’s eyes on her; wide-eyed in disbelief for something invisible. And it happened  _ every time  _ Adora shoved her in a cell, and Catra wonders if her reputation is farther than she thought. Frustrated, she finally speaks. “...what do you guys want?”

“Darling, you’re unscathed.” The rogue steps forward, flicking bright white hair behind their shoulder. “And you were caught by  _ her _ ?”

Catra raises an eyebrow.

“... _ She-ra?” _

“Who the fuck is that?” Catra deadpans, and the room bristles with gasps and murmurs like she’d committed something heinous even for a room full of criminals. She hates the attention, any attention, and she growls deep enough to shut everyone up.

“Honey, you’re the damn best thief in the area to win a fight against She-ra.” The rogue turns back away, and eventually one by one, her prison-mates turn away too; either by awe or fear, Catra doesn’t care which.

She doesn’t question it. She doesn’t acknowledge anyone else in the room as she slouches back on the bench and pushes the thought of Adora out of her mind.

\---

Hours pass. Catra’s cellmates slowly begin to trickle out, having either paid their bail, pled their innocence, or been whisked off to the execution dungeons. She’s the only one left when the moon is high in the sky, washing her with soft white light and a dreaded feeling in her stomach. 

She tends to stay last, because slipping out is easier without a crowd begging to be taken along. And Catra knows she should leave, she’d discarded the stupid handcuffs already and was well prepared to break out and disappear into the night. But leaving meant she had to leave  _ for good.  _ It meant she had to approach Shadow Weaver with her head bent and tail between her legs to relay the news that her face was about to be plastered all over Bright Moon.

God knows if she’d survive that. God knows if Hordak wouldn’t yank her from her position and throw her out into the streets to fend for herself. And if every thief turns on her, she won’t be able to hold her own. 

The Horde  _ and god, is that name ridiculous,  _ and it’s members are an immeasurable force, hiding in every corner and shadow and rooftop. Catra already lives a life where she can’t sleep without one eye open; if a double bounty is placed on her head, she might as well throw herself at the Queen and take a noble death with a sword speared through her chest.

Footsteps make their way towards her cell. She tenses, not recognizing them as Adora’s, and when a man hovers by the entrance, she gives a mild growl and turns away.

“Hey!” The man doesn’t take the hint, and Catra spares another glance. Her tail bristles at the sight of gold armor and a flowing purple cape. A quiver of arrows is slung over his shoulder, but he hardly looks guarded, only staring at her with a small nervous smile. Like he’s trying to be  _ friendly,  _ and Catra already can feel that something is wrong.

“You’re...Catra, right?” His eyes move to her ears before dropping to the pair of cuffs on the ground and his eyes bulge a bit. Catra lifts her head and cackles at his unease, rising to her feet. “Maybe.”

The man clears his throat. “I’m Bow, captain of the Bright Moon Guard.”

Catra freezes. Guards never introduce themselves. She locks eyes on him, a darkness settling into her gaze and he squirms a bit. 

“I need to transfer you,” He informs, and a key appears in his gloved hand. “To the dungeons downstairs. We can...talk on the way?”

Catra doesn’t move. She wills Adora to round the corner, for her to say something that’ll set her free into the night like always, but Adora isn’t here and Bow looks at her expectantly. He’s polite and courteous, but he’s strong and Catra knows she can’t move past him without cementing a death wish.

_ Goddammit, Adora, what did you do? _

“Alright.” Catra can’t keep the growl out of her voice, and she approaches the cell door with as proud of a gait she can muster. The pride fizzles once Bow clamps down another set of cuffs on her wrist.


	2. Chapter 2

Catra understands the dungeons well enough.

She’s done enough crimes to outweigh her arrests; and Adora is very oblivious to the fact. She hasn’t memorized every brick in the wall but she’s memorized the layout enough to slip away during the night. 

Bow leads her in an entirely new direction, and the heavy silence is broken purely due to the fact he doesn’t know how to shut up.

“So.” His grip is tight and uncomfortable on her wrists, but considering where he was taking her, she can’t be surprised. “...I like your hair.”

“Adora would be better at your job.”

“H-hey!” Bow _squeaks,_ and Catra snickers at the fact. The tension in the air wavers, but the heavy feeling in her chest only sinks further. “That’s...oh, wait, you’re _her_ Catra, huh?!”

The heavy feeling morphs into a boulder and Catra sucks in a breath. “What of it?”

“Nothing. She’s mentioned you. Just a couple of times.” Bow lowers his voice, evidently embarrassed by his outburst, but Catra’s lost all entertainment as she shoots him a look over her shoulder. The rest comes out in a wild rush from his lips. “Okay, I lied, I know you two have a history. But I promise I’m not gonna be _weird_ about it.”

It should be relieving. The mere idea that Catra remained a factor in Adora’s mind, long after she’d abandoned the Guild, should be comforting considering Adora never left Catra’s mind. And yet. The coiled anger in Catra’s gut, the grudge and fire that’d nestled a home in her heart only grew at the fact. 

Adora thought about Catra. Adora talked about Catra. But Adora never went back, never made an effort to communicate, and Catra doesn’t know how to take it.

_I trusted you._

“Did she talk about me today?” Catra’s voice falls low, almost menacing, and she feels Bow’s grip grow tighter.

“...Was she supposed to?”

Catra’s tail lashes. “No,” she hisses.

“Oh.” Bow leaves it at that, evidently gauging her emotions, but Catra’s long learned how to lock weaknesses up. They turn a corner, approaching a rusted iron door with two guards stationed on either side. Bow nods as they bow their heads, and he unlocks the heavy door as Catra feels the familiar tinge of _fear_ shock her veins. 

Bow grunts as he throws the door open, nearly knocking over one of the sentries. Catra’s led through it into a hallway that’s surprisingly not rusted or overrun with spiders. It’s comfortable, decorated, and holds cells reinforced with steel bars that Catra thinks are thicker than her forearm.

“So. What’s with the whole She-ra business?” She knows Bow can feel her tense up, and the last thing she wants is concern from a stranger.

“Oh! Adora is our strongest soldier.” Bow’s smile falls into a grimace. “Um. Not that you...don’t make that a big deal or something.”

Catra rolls her eyes, as if Adora being such a valuable asset was even a secret. As if Shadow Weaver’s incessant rants didn’t tip that off already. “Right. So why isn’t _she_ the one walking me to my death?”

“She didn’t want to be captain.” Bow tries to stay succinct, but his eyebrows knit in empathy and Catra knows how she can milk this. “She...saw how much I wanted to, ever since I was a kid, and I’m our strongest archer. Ah. Don’t--”

“I don’t _care._ ” Catra runs a tongue over an incisor. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re kinda walking me to my execution.”

“Holding cell!” Bow stops and sweeps a hand out towards her new respective cell. It’s padded and triple locked, but still has the gall to have frilly pink curtains by the window. “You get a last meal. And stuff. Maybe a last call.” Bow pauses as he mulls over it. “I’m still...trying to figure out a good system.”

“Not killing is a good system,” Catra deadpans. “Kinda sinking into Thief territory there, not gonna lie.”

Something imperceptible flickers across Bow’s face, and it’s pure discomfort, but Catra doesn’t get long to relish it until he switches the subject. Of course. “Adora is known as She-ra, and I don’t know who started it. But she’s kinda the force to be reckoned with here in Bright Moon. All of Etheria to be honest. The other kingdoms keep requesting she move to their forces, but thank _god_ she swore allegiance to Angella or we’d never see her again.”

Catra hums at the thought. Perfect little Adora. A perfect soldier who every queen and princess wants to protect their perfect little kingdoms. To rid them of vermin, and the thought is so vile that Catra feels sick. “Sounds _stupid._ ”

“Well, you should really see her in action! It’s...it’s like she was born to be a soldier, she’s an absolute tank. Angella says there might even be _magic_ involved.” Catra grimaces, wondering how a man can get his eyes to _literally sparkle._

He finally turns the last key and swings open the cell door. It’s bright and inviting even in the moonlight, but Catra ultimately can tell how fabricated it feels. “Plus we’ve been basically hiring anyone since your side’s been taking over.”

“You’re real talkative, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be friendly. Considering, the um. The circumstances.” Bow moves his hand off her wrists, and she pulls away. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on dying, but thanks anyway.” Catra smoothly pushes past him and Bow squawks a bit. She makes a point by discarding newly picked cuffs onto the floor with a heavy _clunk_ and she glances at him over her shoulder. “By the way. I want smoked lemon salmon, a bowl of mashed potatoes, and allll your fancy pastries.” She flashes her teeth, and Bow swallows and quickly shuts the door.

Once he’s gone, and Catra is finally alone, she sinks into the bed and tries to process all of the information. It was still a toss-up whether any of it would make it back to Hordak; despite the forever-instilled drive to stay breathing and stay free, it’d be a respite to finally give it all up and see if she’d wake up in a different life someday.

But. The grudge holds her hostage, telling her she can’t let Adora have the satisfaction of winning. She won’t let the Horde view her as another weak link that needed to be disposed of. She wasn’t going to let Shadow Weaver be _right._ She discards the idea of staying almost as quickly as she considered it as she crosses her arms and lays a weary head on top. 

Whatever it took, she wouldn’t let Adora be her savior. Not anymore.

\---

Adora’s stressed.

In reality, she always has been, ever since her entire existence orbited around the notion of _staying alive._ Even becoming a guard didn’t give her the sense of ease and purpose all her fellow guards loved to brag about. The underlying guilt that she was a traitor to her own people, a backstabber to who she used to be always nestled itself deep in her chest.

Catra’s appearance didn’t help. Instead, it made that small little guilt explode into something all-encompassing and paralyzing, and Adora flip-flopped between doing her job and letting things slide so Catra could _stay alive._

The inner turmoil confused every decision into mixed values and that part made Adora the most stressed. The idea that being _her_ meant being both bad and good, torn between sides, and stepping out of the wrong line meant she’d be due for an arrow between her eyes.

Had Catra told Shadow Weaver yet where Adora had disappeared to? Adora’s legacy was short-lived; immediately overshadowed by other prodigy children, according to what Catra had relayed that first night they reunited. No other thief really sought her out or recognized the small blonde child had turned into a behemoth of a knight patrolling the streets of residential Bright Moon. No one would’ve predicted it.

Except Catra.

For the first time in her life, Adora abandons her post. She races through the kingdom searching for Bow, but he’s not in his office and she makes a move to search the castle courtyard. She passes the gates, stepping into the extravagant garden full of Glimmer’s favorites, purple asters and yellow roses and pink carmelions. Lattices line the border, entangled in strawberries and vines. The setting sun strikes an orange beam of light on the statue of King Micah, forever frozen in a rigid pose with an outstretched hand. Adora bows her head in respect when she’s intercepted.

“Lady Adora!” Netossa appears, flanked by two royal guards with sweeping cloaks that glitter like stars. Adora turns, shifting a bit as Netossa comes to her side. “Good afternoon, Netossa.”

Netossa remained well-respected and good-mannered, but no one really understood what she _did._ Glimmer said she was the Queen’s royal advisor, Bow said she worked within the war room with the generals and captains, and Adora often saw her trotting on horseback in the training grounds. 

In reality, Netossa was _really_ good at multitasking, and Adora figured that deserved respect.

“Good news!” Netossa claps a strong hand on Adora’s shoulder and ignores the squeak it induces. “I received a response from Castaspella. I made an appointment for you to meet with the sorcerers to discuss your concerns. And it took _forever_ considering they keep sending their sorcerers to stupid meetings that end in nothing.”

“Ngh...thank you, Netossa.” Adora straightens, grateful but wary of the reminder of her issue. Unforeseen strength wasn’t because of her genes or training as a child. Adora had never felt the effects of magic; Shadow Weaver, presumably, never laid a hand on her and instead directed any punishment to Catra, but whatever Adora was feeling on the daily had to fit the description.

She-ra couldn’t just be a _normal person._

“Do you…” She trails off, noting the look of concern on Netossa’s face. “Do you know where Captain Bow is?”

“Oh, that kid. Yep, he swung by the castle to woo Glimmer some more before they headed out to town.” She shrugs her shoulders, reaching for a set of pruning shears laying on a crate nearby. Adora blinks as she expertly works on a lattice of overgrown vines. “She didn’t take any guards. I’m not sure where they’ve gone.”

“Ugh.” If Glimmer and Bow were out on their own, they could be _anywhere._

“You get real tired of chasing them, don’t you?” Netossa quips, shooting Adora a wry smile.

“...sometimes. I’d ask the Queen, but I know she’s probably still not fond of me.”

Netossa clucks her tongue, chopping off a rotten bud from a rosebush and tossing it over her shoulder. “If you just learned to bow and shut up, you wouldn’t say stupid things.” She pauses, suspicion creeping back onto her expression. “Why do you need Bow? Aren’t you supposed to be posted out?”

Adora squirms, avoiding the looks of the royal guards. “I caught a Wanted criminal. I just...I think she might be useful to our cause.”

“Ooh, _now_ we’re talking!” Netossa points the pair of shears, and nearly smacks one of her guards. “We sending her to interrogation? I’ve been practicing my good guard, bad guard routine with Spinny.”

Despite the amusing image _that_ brings, Adora shakes her head. “I kinda think it’d be better...if she joined us.”

Almost instantly, she knows her words are the wrong ones. The guards shake their heads, and Netossa’s smile fades away so quickly, Adora might as well have slapped it off. “Adora, no.”

“But, Netossa--”

“Hon, you don’t want to have that argument. Not with the Queen, not with Glimmer, not even with Bow. And that boy’s been against the death penalty since he was a page.” Adora tries, and fails to hide her crestfallen look. She’s stubborn though, and the thought of Catra not even being given a _chance_ makes her dig her boots deeper into the dirt. “Is this criminal that valuable? Like, _wlling_ to defect.”

“I can make her.” Adora’s voice falls low and determined, but Netossa isn’t convinced.

“You can’t make a bad guy turn good.”

“I can with her.”

“Adora, you _can’t._ ” The stern tone almost turns hostile, and Adora averts her eyes. “The Horde is moving closer. If we start bringing people in, they’re going to take over our vulnerable spots and fully move into Bright Moon. Angella doesn’t want that risk. We don’t want... _this_ again.” She gestures to King Micah’s statue with a broad arm swipe and Adora winces.

They stand for a second, risking a glance at the statue, at the golden shimmering plaque under his name. The flowers Glimmer sets at his base every day. The multitude of bright white lilies Angella had planted and cultivated almost immediately after the statue’s creation.

Adora doesn’t know the story. She doesn’t really want to. She can’t imagine Catra taking the same route, of sinking her claws deep into Adora’s back and _yanking._

She’d never do that.

“...He never wanted it, you know.”

“Huh?” Adora raises her head, acutely and painfully aware her eyes are watering.

Netossa’s noticed. Her eyes narrow, the anger displaced by something akin to sympathy. She glances back at the statue, carefully reaching out to shift the lilies, pluck out fallen leaves from the ivy vines. “King Micah hated the idea of penalizing beyond a few years in a cell.”

“Why do we do it then?”

Netossa purses her lips, quiet, and Adora isn’t sure if she’s thinking of how to word it or just doesn’t like the answer. “...revenge and grief make you do crazy things. And truth be told, we can’t really understand how the Horde is gaining advantage. Queen Angella said their numbers are unfathomable and outnumber our population, so cutting it down is the best solution. And...I agree.”

Adora shuts her eyes, trying to sway an approaching pounding headache. She wills her heartrate to steady. The idea of fighting with Catra is never ideal; she’s given up her sword and helmet at the sight of her for a reason, but Catra is bull-headed and loyal. Asking nicely won’t get them far. 

“I’m not giving up that easy.” Adora locks back with a heavy gaze and Netossa eyes her, sensing the inner arguments in her mind and she shrugs. “Not my fight, girl. But keep looking for Bow. Maybe you’ll get a better answer.”

Adora turns. Netossa holds out the shears, blocking her path and Adora sighs.

“You be careful,” Netossa huffs. “Whoever this girl is, you better know for sure if she’s worth it.”

Adora doesn’t look up. Catra, with glimmering eyes and a quick hand and so fast on her feet, she might as well fly. Even after all those years, Catra means something.

“She is.”

Netossa stares, but doesn’t respond. She lifts the shears and lets Adora go.

\---

Adora finally receives word where Bow has gone; back to his office (ironically enough) and with Glimmer in tow. When she’s reached the dungeons, the beginnings of dusk have taken over, washing the sky in dark purples and dimming the streets. Adora watches her back as nightfall approaches, and reminds everyone to go inside as soon as possible.

If Catra had enough of waiting, she’d be long gone.

Adora swallows hard against a lump in her throat. Catra leaving for good would ensure her safety, but she dreads the idea. They’d never had an honest and careful talk, too caught up in years of torment and growth without each other, and Adora just wants to heal and make up and fight on the same side.

But it’s not that easy, she grimly wonders as she enters dim dungeon halls. Catra’s never that easy.

When she finds Bow and Glimmer, they’re caught in a heated argument over a pile of papers. She doesn’t interfere, not unless she had a death wish.

They take notice after three tense minutes and Bow drops his head and steps back against the wall. Glimmer, seeking the high ground, merely brushes at her robes and trains her gaze on Adora. “Sorry, Adora.”

Pleasantries weren’t necessary between the three of them; and Adora had to admit, she liked the change of pace. “Um...no problem.” She stumbles a bit as she fully enters the office. Bow’s office isn’t lavish, but it still takes after his dads’ tastes, with file cabinets covered in trinkets and confiscated magical items, and a large red oak desk stacked with documents and spare arrows.

Adora takes notice of the blazing red ink scrawled across the top of every piece of paper. Execution documents; only ever-growing over the course of the past 15 years. Her general apathy morphs into a nauseous and uneasy feeling. “I have news.”

“Oh?” Glimmer leans forward, crinkling the documents and ignoring Bow’s squawk of protest. “Lay it on me, She-ra.”

“It’s Catra.”

“Again?” Glimmer’s eyes go wide and Bow twiddles his thumbs, suddenly looking sheepish. “Adora, that’s like the seventh time—“

“Eighth, actually.”

“Okay. I get there’s like. A weird history between you two and it’s not my business.” Glimmer shifts her cape, dark purple and overwhelmingly regal, and Adora already feels chastised. “But Catra’s situation is starting to threaten the kingdom.”

“Not every petty thief threatens the throne!” Adora doesn’t mean to get heated, not really, but Glimmer’s easy smile falls and the gnawing sensation in her chest keeps her going. “I’ve only ever caught her stealing. Occasional property damage. And like, a ton of insults towards authority.”

Bow rocks a bit on his heels, shuffling to Adora’s side and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Adora, you know Catra’s done more than steal, right?”

And that doesn’t seem right. Adora grunts, shrugging him off, the image of a murderous Catra with blood-stained daggers or vials of poison not _impossible_ but not _her Catra._ Bow heaves a sigh, melancholic and uncomfortable, as he unearths a paper from the stack on the desk.

Adora’s blood runs cold at the red scrawl of a signature at the top. Glimmer doesn’t meet her eyes as Bow reads.

“15 accounts of larceny, 5 accounts of murder, 6 accounts of assisted murder, 2 accounts of interfering in economic affairs, and like 3 years of tax evasions.” Bow clicks his tongue, dragging a finger down the page. “We’ve been looking for her for weeks, but everytime she ends up in the dungeons she disappears before I can transfer her. We’ve had to charge her without her even being physically present.”

“Murder?” Catra, with a wild unhinged look in her eyes. Or Catra, with a cruel and calculated stare at her victim. Catra, sharp deadly claws at someone’s throat. Catra, caught up in something Adora can’t save her from anymore.

“She’s slippery. None of the guards can grab her, but now we finally have her and we know she’s a threat to the kingdom!” Glimmer throws a hand up for emphasis before snatching the paper from Bow’s hand. “Adora, I’m calling for her execution.”

“No!” The force of her voice makes all 3 of them jump and Adora pulls back, even as the world seems to be falling away. “Glimmer, Glimmer, I can _fix this._ ”

“Hey.” Bow tries to hold her again, but Adora jerks away. It burns, everything burns, especially her eyes and her chest and she rips her helmet off for a desperate attempt for air.

Catra, head stuck within the guillotine. Catra, those riveting eyes of hers filled with fear, helplessness, betrayal. She can’t do it, she can’t do it, not again.

“I’m not...leaving her again.” Adora scrambles to regain composure, years of practice at the ready, and she leans across the desk with desperate eyes. “Glimmer, I can convince her to put these skills to good use.”

“ _Murder_ has no place in the kingdom, Adora!” Glimmer snaps. “The _Queen_ has placed this order too. There’s been too many attempts on her life and...and mine, and I don’t doubt Catra was a part of those.”

“That’s it, though, she’s crafty, she’s insanely smart and cunning and it means something when _I’m_ the only one who’s ever caught her.” Bow makes a small noise of agreement and Glimmer presses her lips together in frustration. “I can figure something out. Just let me talk to her, and maybe we can even have her take down the Horde for good!”

She’s rambling. She knows she is, but the words strike well enough and the offer is enticing enough to make Glimmer’s eyes sparkle. But the brightness deadens almost immediately and it’s like a spear drives itself into Adora’s heart when Glimmer shakes her head.

“You and Bow don’t understand the necessity of this penalty. Adora, we have nowhere to put reformed criminals, if they even stay reformed to begin with.” Glimmer moves to the window, framed by a sleepy kingdom and a sky speckled with stars. Despite the calm outer appearance, all of them know what’s occurring within their walls. An unfathomable amount of thieves and crooks and rogues hellbent on breaking the kingdom’s integrity, terrorizing its citizens, wreaking havoc in preparation of Hordak’s arrival. Adora shivers, holding her helmet to her chest, the metal suddenly unbearably cold.

“We’re overpopulated. The rest of the kingdoms don’t want anything to do with criminals, even if they’ve sworn to a life of peace. I need to help my mom protect this place. To protect my dad’s legacy and all the people counting on me.” Glimmer’s eyes water, and Bow shuffles over to wrap his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I just...these people aren’t good people. Catra’s not a good person. You need to let her go.”

Adora loosens the grip on her helmet as she slips it back on, her knuckles sore from the tension. She can’t see straight, but she fights down the rising panic, the younger version of herself that’s screaming for mercy, for change, for Adora to grow a goddamn spine. 

Glimmer’s eyes plead. Bow avoids her gaze.

“...no.”

“Adora.” Glimmer’s voice cracks, but her authoritative tone begins to seep in. “This is an order. From your Queen.”

And Adora can see it. Under Catra’s file, a dainty loop of a signature that’s rare and daunting. Queen Angella herself, and Adora vaguely wonders if things would be different if she’d told her place of origin from the start.

Adora turns for the door without another word. Glimmer doesn’t say anything; Bow follows, nearly tripping over his cape.

“Adora, _Adora,_ listen to me.” He skids forward, following her out into the hall, blocking her path. She makes a move to cast him aside (and it’d be like tossing a sack of flour, with her newfound abilities) but Bow brings steady hands to her shoulders. “I’m trying to fight for you, too. I know Catra means something to you.”

“She doesn’t deserve this.” Adora hadn’t realized she’d been crying, and she wipes at her eyes with a frustrated swipe.

“A lot of them don’t.” Bow’s morose expression quickly falls away. “I’ve taken her to the execution dungeons. She’s got a day or two left, and I’ll keep trying to find a way to get her out of this. Even if it means sending her into the fields for a few years…”

Adora snorts. Catra won’t accept an alternative aside from being let free. 

“But you need to be sure what her intentions are.” Bow hesitates, bringing his hands down. “Not everyone wants to be saved. And not everyone can be trusted.”

“She’s not part of _everyone._ ”

Adora doesn’t argue further. She pushes past him, disappearing down the dungeon stairs. It takes all of her strength not to look back.

\---

Generally when she’s this upset, her legs tend to take her to the training room, or Swifty’s stable, or her cramped quarters with the overly soft bed and nosy neighbors. But this time she finds herself within the deepest parts of the dungeon, crossing through cells empty of the most dangerous criminals of Bright Moon.

The execution dungeon is newer than the rest, and Queen Angella saw to it that the cells were adorned to her liking. In her mind, it was a last source of comfort for the murderers and grand criminals to lounge in their final hours. But for Adora, and every criminal with the misfortune of experiencing it, it felt haughty and entitled and patronizing. 

Of course, lacking the Captain title meant her opinions on decor were less than savvy. Her She-Ra title meant they sought her decisions on battle strategies, training regimes, and sword care, but nothing beyond that, and no personal input on their strategies for prisoners of the Horde.

She was a soldier, and that was it.

Adora stops at the final cell, and Catra is there, defying her inner pleas that she had escaped. She lounges on the cushioned bench, flicking a coin in nimble fingers and scratching at the fluttery curtains with her other hand.

“Catra.” Adora’s voice cracks, embarrassingly, and Catra jolts a bit. She glances over, split colored eyes piercing and hypnotizing and Adora forgets all the words she wanted to say.

“Hm.” Catra flips the coin again as she sits up. “Hey there, She-Ra.”

“I never told you about that.” Adora wonders what else Catra knows, what dark secrets she could unveil that’d prove her innocence in the end. But Catra only shrugs. “Word gets around. Didn’t know I was fighting the souped-up solder of Etheria. I think I earned a trophy or something for those efforts.”

Adora lets loose a quiet laugh and the smile that Catra gives calms her nerves. “I honestly...don’t even know who came up with that name. It’s really weird.”

“And really stupid.” Catra stands and suddenly she’s inches away from the cell bars. Adora’s breath hitches, as Catra’s gaze morphs into something imperceptible. She fears the idea that Catra would _accept_ all this. Normally, she’d be long gone; but the heightened security of the execution cells kept her in place.

There’s a tense silence, and Adora’s grip on the bar turns her knuckles white. Catra’s eyes narrow, her mouth opens, and suddenly she barks out a laugh with her head tilted back. 

“Sorry,” Catra snorts, and Adora smiles. “That helmet looks stupider the longer I look at it.”

“I’m surprised you’re not gone.”

“I dunno. I think I oughta stick around a bit longer.” Catra’s tail curls as she turns her back, still flipping the coin. “I have a gut feeling I should.”

Adora doesn’t wait. “Catra, I know what you’ve done.”

The coin flipping stops. Catra turns her head a bit, her right ear flicking, cueing Adora to continue.

“The...murders.” Adora licks her lips, legs feeling unsteady. “The stuff you’ve done that’s...getting you executed.”

Catra turns away again. She doesn’t speak for a minute, but her tail lashes.

“Catra, please, you need to help me fix this.” Adora leans forward, craving to step closer, to wrap her arms around her childhood friend and will the feeling of betterment into her sour demeanor, but Catra doesn’t move. “If...if you can use your skills for good, or, or tell them something important or something—“

“You’re not here to haggle, Adora.” Catra pins her with an intense glare, full of malice and hatred and emotion that makes Adora step back. “You’re here to _beg_.”

She doesn’t reply. Somehow, all Catra is doing is staring but Adora feels like her life is on the line anyway. _Sharp claws. Blood-stained dagger._

“I don’t think you’re here to ask what I want. Or what I think.” Catra pockets the coin, and unsheathes her claws. She shreds at the drapes, tangling linen in her fingers. “And honestly? That’s pretty on brand for you.”

“What—“ Adora bristles, but Catra growls, a noise daunting and sudden and new. 

“You _left_ me.” She rips her hand away, stalking forward until she’s inches from Adora’s face, metal bars the only thing keeping them from touching noses. “You fucking left me in that guild to come over here and be some goddamn hero that the entire country has a boner for. And then you decide to arrest me, and have to gall to make me think it’s my responsibility?!”

With Catra so close, Adora takes in the familiar smell of roses and dust and steel, the scent that’d carried her through childhood back in the Horde. She remembers strong feline arms catching her from her falls, leading her through flips, training her in the ways of catlike reflexes and sneaky steps in the hallways.

When Adora left, not even Shadow Weaver followed. When Adora swore her allegiance to the kingdom, she was too young to be seen as a liable threat, for that guillotine blade to be considered for her head. 

Catra hadn’t followed. Catra didn’t listen, even when Adora dropped as many hints as she could that she wanted to leave, that she didn’t want to kill or steal or tarnish her moral compass. And Adora had always blamed herself that her hints weren’t enough, she hadn’t been persistent enough or obvious enough or sneaky enough, until she realized too late Catra ignored her on purpose.

And when Adora still followed through, Catra took it as a sign that their friendship wasn’t that strong after all.

“Weaver wanted me to be an assassin.” The words are poison in Adora’s throat, but Catra’s ears perk up. “I wasn’t trying to be weak, Catra. I didn’t want to kill for my lifetime. And I wanted you to be on the good side with me but...but you didn’t listen, _you never listen._ ”

“Not listening lets me stay fucking _alive_ , Adora,” Catra bites. She growls again, throwing herself back, digging hands into her wild locks of hair and Adora wants to grab Catra’s hands away, to hold them close.

“If I went with you, we wouldn’t have survived. They would’ve taken one look at me and _knew._ ” Catra huffs, the beginnings of tears in mismatched eyes and she lashes her tail one, two, five times in a row. “Adora, I don’t care anymore.”

“Catra, don’t do this.”

“Go away. Go, and never fucking look back, because that’s all you’re good at and it’s what I’m too cowardly to do.” Catra’s battle turns internal and Adora reaches a hand through the bars, wishing Bow wasn’t the only one with the keys. “Catra—“

“I made myself into something too, you know.” Catra wipes at her face with the back of her hand, locking onto Adora’s eyes. Adora tries to hide the turmoil in her head, but Catra can tell. She always could tell.

“Hordak. The big baddie that your Queen’s been trying to track down since we were even fucking born. He’s planning something big, something your fancy little soldiers won’t get to handle.” Catra raises her head and even as She-Ra, Adora has never felt so small. “And I think it’d be worth something to take you down. But you know what? I’m tired of caring.”

“Don’t.” The tears are flowing but Adora can’t stop it. She shouldn’t show emotion, or vulnerability, and the drops stick to her helmet and chill her skin but Catra’s earnest gaze is too much to handle.

“Leave me alone. Go away. And let me the fuck go.” Catra turns, finally, gripping her claws back into the curtains and continuing to shred them. 

Adora wants to stay. She leaves her arms through the bars, but Catra is too stubborn to turn around and Adora’s too weary to fight the endless fight of convincing.

She lowers her arms and steps away. She stares, taking in the silhouette of her friend, the cat ear with a notch, the bandaged upper arm, the Horde insignia she knows is hidden under her heavy hood, and it’s not the Catra she remembers.

She leaves. Her steps are heavy and when she’s gone, she doesn’t hear the small sob Catra lets loose.


	3. Chapter 3

Adora spars the whole night.

Her knuckles sting as she brings them to the punching bag, the  _ thunk  _ of impact ringing out in the empty training room. She swings a kick, twirling into a stance where she throws a hook and brings her knee up with so much force, the bag breaks and flies into the wall.

She wants to scream. She  _ did  _ scream, right in Swift Wind’s glorious mane until someone walked into the horse’s stable to check on her. She hadn’t given an explanation; even now, with the exertion clearing her head, she can’t think of one.

She’s angry with Catra, with herself, with the world deciding it was in their fate to be split. That Adora deserved to lose a comforting steady presence for the sake of her future, and that Catra’s would forever be tarnished at the mercy of Hordak and Shadow Weaver. 

It’s ruined. Ruined beyond repair, and Adora doesn’t know how to take it.

She’d understood the sacrifices when she left; but she hadn’t thought so much about the wellbeing of her best friend, too caught up in the idea that Catra would come around  _ someday.  _ The soft nagging voice in Adora’s head told her she should’ve expected pushback, but Catra was stubborn. And her deciding to give everything up was too far off the mark, too unexpected. Catra was supposed to say yes, to dive into Adora’s arms and help take down the Horde for good, and they’d be happy, and  _ they’d be happy… _

Adora huffs, stalking to the outside training grounds where the pages have set up the hay dummies for tomorrow’s class. She stands for a second, working out the intricacies of rubber bands and shaky marker faces, before she unsheathes her sword.

The feeling returns, gripping deep down into the core of her bones, something powerful and unrelenting coursing through her veins like ice water. She grunts in pain, still not used to the feeling, as she slides into a stance and glares at the hay dummy.

She-Ra isn’t normal. She knows that, and wonders if Catra has a hunch too. She’s not sure if the mention of magic would force Catra to turn around and  _ run.  _ Adora wouldn’t blame her.

Magic didn’t hold a good spot in their lives anyway.

She slices out with a cry, and the dummy’s head flies off and into the grass past the fence posts. She turns, twisting her torso with rapid speed and skewers the next dummy like butter.

Catra relayed that she didn’t want anything to do with Adora, or the kingdom, or the greater good...but she kept coming back. Adora had wondered that the entire time she walked back from the dungeons, wandered streets full of guards at every corner, ignored shady alleyways with shifting shadows that bolted at the sight of her. Catra knew she had a criminal record larger than her goddamn age and yet  _ she kept coming back. _

If she hadn’t come back for the purpose of being saved, for being swept away from the Horde’s clutches and into Adora’s arms, then what had Catra been trying to do?

_ Dark eyes. Blood-stained dagger. _

Adora cries out, swinging with such brute force, her sword slashes through the wooden pole and completely halves a dummy. Her arms tremble, her vision blurs, but she pushes through and keeps hacking at the remains.

Their meetings hadn’t been transactional. They’d wanted the meetings, magnetically pulled into each other’s orbit like planets in the cosmos. They’d be in so close of a presence, Adora would only need to hold out her arms for an embrace. But Catra’s endgame always remained unclear. The trust had been minimal, but it had been  _ present,  _ and now Adora doesn’t know if Catra will turn and relay all the information to Hordak, to send a dozen cronies after her in exchange for her life.

After what had happened, Catra would gladly go for Adora’s head in retaliation.

And no matter how persistent the denial is, Adora’s reasoning voice insists that this was what Catra wanted all along. For Adora to be slain. For her traitor to meet her fate, and Catra’s tragic past to be avenged.

And Adora had been stupid enough to fall for it.

“ _ AAAAGH!”  _ Adora throws the sword, overcome with rage unlike anything she’s felt before. She jerks back a bit as it skewers into a dummy and suddenly  _ explodes. _

It’s not big. Adora’s found worse explosions at firecracker booths, but the massive pain shooting through her limbs sends her on her back and she’s staring up into swirling stars. The night sky is peaceful and constant. It anchors her, rips her from her anguished mind, and she doesn’t realize how hard she’s shaking until someone’s looming over her and trying to hold her down.

“--dora. Adora!”

Adora reaches out and grasps onto Bow’s forearm. He’s shed his armor, dressed in leisure clothes and his favorite white crop top. He’s alone, thankfully; Adora couldn’t sit through another lecture if she could help it.

“Bow.” Adora huffs, swallows, coughs out the dryness in her mouth. She tastes blood, but she’s not sure from where.

“That’s...new.” Bow eyes the mess of the dummies, the remains smoking and blackened, but luckily no fires have started (this time). “Um...as your captain, I say you gotta go to bed. You’re gonna wake the trainees.”

“Mm-hm.” Adora wobbles to her feet, barely aware of Bow’s hold on her elbow. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened there.”

“I’m sorry.” Bow’s voice lowers, even as she stumbles to pick up the sword. “I should’ve...tried harder. I didn’t know it’d be this bad. About...you-know-who.”

Adora waves the issue away, but maybe too harshly as she nearly topples with the movement. “It’s my fault. She didn’t want saving anyway. I’m not...I’m not worth it.”

“Adora.”

“It’s her choice.” The tears don’t come, not this time, but she’s had enough to cry for the night anyway. “And I think it’s about time I respect her choice. It just sucks it had to come to this choice for me to fucking figure it out.”

Bow is quiet for a moment. He clenches and unclenches anxious fists, and they begin the walk back to the barracks. “Tomorrow’s supposed to be the date. Glimmer’s orders. She figured sooner than later, so...Catra’s first thing in the morning.”

Adora pauses, willing away the faint pain in her limbs, the humming energy in the sword fading away. “...and you’re telling me because?”

“So you know. Peace of mind.” Bow shakes his head. “You don’t have to go. No guards ever do.”

It weighs heavy on Adora’s mind. Hearing about Catra’s execution is one thing. Watching it is something she could never go back from. Pain billows in her chest, but it’s not related to the sword anymore. “M’not gonna watch. Can’t.”

“That’s fair.” Bow puts a steady hand on her back and leads her to her room.

\---

Morning comes, and Catra wakes up more refreshed than she’s been in weeks.

She yawns, stretching out on the luxurious cot with its endless pillows as faint sun rays aim through destroyed curtains and into her eyes. Bow had slunk in the night before to tell her she’d be today’s first kill; and frankly, she’s not surprised. She’d been dancing and taunting the royal goons for months, and she’d expected her eventual capture to be swift and deadly.

Her claws unsheath as she drowns out the panic, digging into the mattress below her. The anger from last night was subdued, but it slowly dredges to the surface once the remnants of her dreamy state vanish.

Adora had been in her dreams all night. Childhood memories mostly, comprised of running through darkened halls, climbing up scraggly trees, bright blonde hair and deep blue eyes that pulled Catra in like a tornado.

One instance sticks out above the rest. A little before Adora disappeared, sitting in the mess hall with nutrition bars in hand (gray kinds. Adora’s favorite. They tasted like ash.) 

“Nothing can really be bad if we have each other,” Adora had assured, and Catra wasn’t sure what event in her dream warranted that response.

“I have you. And you have me. That’s all we need.”

The dream skipped the parts worthy of anguish. It passed over Catra’s gloom, her anger, her ensuing tantrum and sobs and demands for explanations no one was there to give. Instead, the dream held peace, finality, a warm hand in hers. 

She’d told Adora she’d given up. In reality, she hadn’t given up on life, she wouldn’t give Hordak the satisfaction and she wouldn’t let herself get beat down so easily.

She was giving up on Adora.

And it should be  _ easy,  _ but it isn’t. 

When it was just the two of them, Catra had felt like Adora’s world. And with their current strings of interactions, that feeling had returned, albeit faded and mangled. Adora had cared, approaching Catra without any hesitation, but all their meetings were marred by Adora’s insistence on doing her job. Rubbing in Catra’s face that she’d never be Adora’s priority again. 

So  _ why keep trying? _

They had been different. Adora was a prodigy. Catra had untapped potential. Together, they could’ve led their own militia, overtaken Bright Moon by each other’s side.

They would’ve had everything. Catra didn’t understand why Adora wouldn’t want the power, the status, the leadership. Weaver ruined good things all the time, and Catra had always had a hunch that being an assassin was written for Adora’s future, but that was the case for every well-trained child in the Horde.  _ What cruel irony,  _ Catra bitterly thinks,  _ that Adora escapes a life of killing just to fall to an identical job with false righteousness.  _ What an upgrade.

The betrayal runs deep, and Adora has the audacity to switch sides and instead kill their brethren, the poor, the lost, the stuck and morally frayed. She could’ve stayed. She could’ve taken down the princesses sitting in their castles, hoarding their wealth, squashing the troublemakers like bugs under their sparkly heels. 

_ Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. _

There’s too many emotions to sort out anymore. But one thing is certain: Adora’s repeated it all over again, saying she’d  _ fix things,  _ begging Catra to come with her without understanding the implications of what it’d mean. Catra wouldn’t fit in. She didn’t agree with the kingdom’s barbaric manners. And frankly she liked living without rules, but she should’ve known the common naivety of her former best friend would ignore all those reasons.

If Adora wanted a righteous future, she’d gotten it. But Catra wouldn’t let her fate be written by Adora too. She’d been so desperate. So loyal to the Queen, so adamant about joining their side, so eerily okay with the carnage around them.

_ Don’t you see?!  _ Catra had wanted to scream, from the very first day they’d reunited.  _ They’re killing us! No side is good, but please pick mine! _

Subtlety hadn’t worked though.

And within the Horde, Catra had power. She’d climbed the ranks with blood and sweat and tears, with murder etched into her brain, and she’d be  _ damned  _ if Adora took it away.

She’d be  _ damned  _ if Adora ruined it all again.

“ _ Stupid  _ fucking Adora,” She growls, and she lets her claws finally tear through the mattress, unleashing a flurry of fluffy insides. They shred so easily, like a hot knife through butter, and she eyes the claw marks up the stone walls. Her full night’s work, sharpening and perfecting against the rocky surface. 

It’d been a good long while since she sharpened her claws to be so deadly.

A door opens on the far end of the hall, and Catra rises to her feet. Multiple sets of footsteps head towards her cell, and she sheathes her claws carefully. When Bow comes into view, she doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Catra.” He moves to unlock the cell, flanked by two burly guards with plate armor and thick gloves. Their faces are unshielded, but every organ is protected by metal. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

“Stick to normal pleasantries,” she bites, as the door swings open and the cuffs come on. Her wrists are bound, her ankles are chained, and they stick the final cuff on her neck like a collar and she’d find the irony in that funny if it wasn’t so  _ exhausting. _

She doesn’t remember much of the walk. Lost in thought, she avoids looking towards any of the cells, ignoring all the thoughts of sympathy she’s definitely garnered with her existence. “ _ Oh, that poor soul. May their soul rest in peace.” _

Like she’s never heard it before.

When they step outside, the world snaps back into clarity and she shivers in the morning air. It smells of morning dew and wood burning, as the kingdom prepares for another day. She will too, in time.

The courtyard they’re in is large, bordered by tall stone walls with multiple sentries. Most of them look sleepy, loathing their position, and only one has the sense to keep his crossbow aimed at her. The guillotine stands tall, like a predator cornering her on the forest floor, its blade shining in the rising sun. A basket lays beneath it, cushioned with fresh white sheets and Catra sneers.

“Is the executioner here?” Bow moves to what appears to be another captain in the corner of the courtyard, accompanied by a church official draped in brown robes. “God, if it’s George, he’s  _ always  _ late for the morning ones.”

_ Perfect.  _ Catra thinks. She takes in her surroundings one more time. Three guards leading her in her chains. Bow, the captain, and a harmless priest. Five, six, seven sentries stationed up on the wall. No brute executioner composed of muscle to tie her down.

“Well, boys!” She crows, as Bow turns his head to look at her. “Looks like we might have to reschedule! Ain’t that a shame?”

Bow laughs, like he has the gall to, but Catra doesn’t let him say anything as she unsheathes her claws and slashes the guard on the right.

He goes down with a howl, releasing her chains, and once a leg is free, she kicks down another that grabs at her shoulders. She crouches, and her claws strike through the steel of her leg chains with enough slashes. An arrow whizzes by her ear, but she lunges with newfound mobility and takes down the last guard.

“Call the back-up!” Bow’s voice rings out amongst the sound of arrows and the guards’ screams, and Catra hopes that the priest has prayed for her.

Two guards come back up, but she rushes for the wall. She catches an oncoming arrow within the chains of her arm cuffs and the metal breaks with a hard slam to the wall, and all her limbs are free.

A guard jumps her, but she wastes no time sinking claws into his collarbone and slashing all the way across. The second guard grabs hold of the chain tethered to her neck, and she lets out a frantic roar and slashes the metal with a single swipe. The guard gasps, barely registering as Catra sinks claws into his underarms and uses him to shield as four arrows sink into his back.

The arrows slow down, and she takes the chance to scramble up the wall. Once she’s at the top, a few of the sentries flee with cries for help. She takes one down with relative ease; the second takes a few more dodges, and one arrow cuts close and slices a cut through her shoulder. She pays no mind, slamming him down and heading for an exit.

Running through the halls won’t do her good, and she heads for the wall closest to the city border. There’s only the Whispering Woods beyond it, but she’s ready for what to face as she slices down the last sentry and moves forward.

A net flies over her and she hisses, collapsing to the floor and knocking the wind out of her lungs. She gasps, chokes, fumbles in netting before her claws get a grip and tear it apart. Bow comes towards her, another arrow in his bow as he stares her down.

“What?!” She grunts, taking in another gasp. Her knees hurt, but she ignores the throbbing as she rises to her feet. “Gonna kill me yourself?”

Bow fires. Catra leaps out of the way and the arrow explodes on impact with the stone. It leaves a sizable dent and Catra bares her teeth and rushes him.

Bow has a namesake for a reason, she thinks, as he resets another arrow with precision and speed. But he hesitates. And it’s all Catra needs as she digs claws into his stomach and tosses him over the edge.

His scream echoes in her ears, and more arrows fly past her head as guards begin to convene below the wall. She turns and runs, flying on the stone, and she focuses purely on speed as a shout rings out behind her.

An alarm has rung, but she’s far gone. She leaps from the wall, clearing the edge, floating in the air for two harrowing seconds before she’s crashing into a tree. Branches and leaves swipe at her face and her limbs and her hair, but she lands in one piece, bounds deeper into the woods, and she’s officially a lost cause.

No guards will follow her. Bright Moon is known for their cowardly forces that never dare to enter the Whispering Woods and its secrets. Catra’s navigated these woods fine ever since she could walk, and she disappears further inside. She loses herself in greenery, bushes, dirt, and sunlight.

She won’t go far. She’s got one more thing to do before she returns to the Fright Zone.

\---

After her late-night breakdown, Adora had collapsed into bed with exhausted limbs that hardly felt like hers anymore. She wanted to cry; the tears never came, and she drifted into a fitful sleep full of gold and blue and blood red.

She wakes up at the crack of dawn. She’s not due for work for another two hours, but her nightmares make her wary of going back to sleep. She wipes sweat off a clammy forehead. Her body feels limp and useless against her cot, but she groans and moves to open the window. She stops short upon seeing it already open, someone propped on the windowsill and looking out towards a rising sun.

Blue and gold eyes shift and lock onto her. “Hey, Adora.”

“Oh stars.” Adora stumbles forward, bracing herself against the wall when her legs don’t work immediately. “Catra. Catra, you’re alive.”

At first, Adora thinks Catra really did break out of the cell, but once she’s closer, she sees there’ll be news for her soon. One cuff remains on Catra’s left wrist, covered in scratch marks, swinging two remaining chain links. A makeshift bandage covers a bloody shoulder. Catra looks haggard, scruffy, her hair a nest and her eyes shimmering with something dangerous.

Suddenly, she knocks her head back and  _ laughs,  _ and the sound is like a wind chime during a windy day, pleasant and unexpected. Adora’s heart lurches. She wants to reach out to cradle her face, to stare into those split eyes that hold an entire complicated world she’s missed out on for years.

“You underestimate me, Adora.” Catra flicks her tail, mouth curling into a snarl. “I’m not gonna forget this.”

“Catra, it was your choice.” Adora hesitates, a sudden familiar anger surging forward with words she doesn’t approve of. “I always figured these things were your choice!”

Catra tilts her head, but doesn’t look similarly heated. “Look beyond the surface, princess.”

“Catra, communicate!” Adora lurches, her body shaking with anger or distraught or magic, she can’t tell anymore. “How was I supposed to know what you wanted? What you want? I can’t read your mind!”

“Well, maybe you can. Being magic and all.”

Catra’s eyes flicker to the sword resting next to Adora’s bed. Without thinking, Adora stumbles back, throwing a protective hand over it. Catra’s eyes rise to her face, something akin to  _ disappointment  _ in her expression as she looks back to the horizon.

“I guess it’s worth telling you I’m a Master Thief in the Thieves’ Guild...or Horde. Whatever your little friends and you like to call it.”

Adora’s shoulders slump, hands raising to an unarmed chest. The tightening in her heart  _ hurts  _ and she wants to reach forward, to keep Catra from ever jumping out and disappearing again. “I’m not surprised.”

“Mm-hm. And now you can tell allll your friends.” Catra’s unrelenting, steady, piercing into every inch of Adora’s soul. “We both could’ve had that.”

Adora stares. 

Catra shrugs, turning back away as if she knew Adora wouldn’t take the bait. “I’m flying solo now anyway. Can’t have a partner who would be willing to let my head get chopped off for the name of a stupid kingdom.”

“I tried to stop them! I tried to stop  _ you!”  _ She sounds desperate again, energy thrumming through her veins. “I told them you...you’re valuable to the kingdom! That you can change--”

“Right, right, my  _ value.” _ The words hit a nerve and Catra’s tone is sharp, cutting Adora off. “Because I can...what, sneak into any facility better than other thieves? I can rat on all the locations, get all my allies locked up, confine myself to a small little room in a fancy-ass castle? People would starve. People would  _ die.  _ God, Adora, you’re  _ hopeless. _ ”

Guilt returns, rooting Adora to her spot. Catra’s right, as painful as it is. Whether by execution, or scuffles with guards, or enough time in the dungeons that starvation or sickness attacks, members of the Horde will continue to fall. Adora struggles for a rebounding remark, but comes up empty. Saying it’s for the greater good sounds pretentious. Not for the first time, an internal battle begins in Adora’s mind.

Catra rolls her eyes, as if having expected this. She shifts her body, throwing the window pane further open, and the chilly morning air snaps Adora into motion.

“Catra,  _ please.” _ She moves forward, arm outstretched, and a low grumble sounds in Catra’s chest. “Don’t leave.”

_ Stay. _

_ Do what I didn’t. _

It doesn’t work.

“Bye, Adora.” Catra lifts her hood, and the blue and gold disappear under it and that’s the worst part of it. Any emotional clue disappears, she turns her back, and the familiar Horde symbol stares Adora in the face. “...you’re gonna regret this.”

And then she’s gone. She flies out the window, disappearing into morning mist like a spectre, and it takes exactly three seconds before Adora collapses onto the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

Evening light splays itself across the sky as Catra finally reaches the outskirts of the Fright Zone. The night chill begins to settle, and she digs stiff hands into her cloak, trying (failing) to hide the dried blood under her nails.

She doesn’t spare any glances to the Guild members she passes. A few call out to her, only to be met with empty air and a harrowing sight. She hisses at the sentries, and they quickly scutter back and fling open the front doors.

She stumbles more than walks through the halls, the stubborn cuff on her wrist clinking in the midst of slamming doors, heavy passing footsteps, and whispers. Nothing but whispers, floating past her ears and beyond the walls and in her soul. Her reputation is as good as dirt; if she can’t convince Hordak and Weaver that she’s somehow done something useful, the Thieves’ Guild will strike her down too.

She has nowhere else to go, and she’d resign herself to fate.

Catra groans, clutching a hand towards her battered shoulder and coming away with a handful of dried mud. She’d washed as well as she could before confronting Adora, but there’s undoubtedly sections she’d missed in her haste, and more beyond just dirt and leaves. She’ll arrive with the same demeanor as a newly initiated assassin.

She doesn’t really know  _ where  _ she’s stumbling to, and her foggy thoughts dissipate as she collides into a figure who immediately grabs her shoulders and stands her straight.

“Cata.” Lonnie looks her up and down, worry etched into the creases of her scarred face. The two of them don identical cloaks and outfits, aside from the bandages that cover Lonnie’s arms from elbow to fingers. A natural-born climber, she was always sent out for espionage; Catra knows well enough, considering she’s been the one sending Lonnie out for the past two years. There could be worse people confronting her, she thinks wearily.

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing here?” Lonnie hisses, and she studies the blood, the cuff, the wild mane of hair, the exhaustion that’s become a permanent fixture of Catra since she was given her promotion. Catra bares her teeth and gives a weak snarl, but there’s no heat in the gesture.

“Thanks for the welcome party,” she snorts. Instead of launching into a tirade, Lonnie shakes her head.

“Catra, she  _ knows. _ ”

There should be dread. It’d been curling up like a readying storm in Catra’s stomach, and she’d expected fear and anger and indignation to overcome her like a curse, like it always does. Instead, alarmingly, there’s emptiness. It’s new. It’s better. “I figured.” She mutters.

“You need to leave, Catra.” Lonnie shoves, but Catra shoves back. “No. I don’t care. I’m sure you’ve figured that out.”

“Maybe.” Lonnie’s frown curls up just a tad, a rare show of friendliness. “But I didn’t know you had a death wish.”

Catra shrugs. Her head pounds, and she realizes she hasn’t eaten since her last big feast the night before. “I’d rather die on my own terms than let some prissy princesses decide it for me.”

Lonnie’s eyes widen, and she opens her mouth to say something, but she cuts herself off with ever-teeming restraint. “Whatever. Just. If you survive...you and I gotta talk more, okay?”

“Okay.” Catra allows a faint smile of her own.

Lonnie slinks away, and Catra hardly notices when she’s turned the corner and disappeared. She stumbles forward, a faint edge of fear threatening to seep into her mind. 

She wants to be furious and feral and anguished, just as she had been all those years ago, a five-year-old tearing down the halls and swiping at anyone who came too close. Crying for a friend who’d left for better things. Mourning the fact she hadn’t gone too.

_ You should’ve gone. _

Adora’s begging echoes in her ears,  _ Don’t leave,  _ as if Adora hadn’t made a bastardization of the phrase for years. Catra pictures the tears glittering in her eyes, the revenge that should’ve tasted sweet but only felt bitter and unpleasant. She relished the power. She hated it.

The halls have suddenly emptied. Catra stops, willing any emotion to pour through, but nothing comes. She knows what to expect before Shadow Weaver’s voice booms in her ears like Etheria imploding.

“ _ Insolent child!” _

Catra turns, as Shadow Weaver barrels her way down the hall with an outrage etched into all of her memories. She takes exactly two steps before the sting of darkness envelopes her limbs, steals her breath, and roots her to the spot.

Catra had forgotten how much it  _ hurt. _

Shadow Weaver halts directly in front of her and Catra lets loose a growl, all her inhibitions lost in hidden grief.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me.” Shadow Weaver’s voice falls low and threatening, dragging like hot coals across Catra’s skin as she leans her face close. Catra can make out every miniscule dent and scratch on the blood-red mask of her keeper, and a sudden familiar spike of fear stabs its way through her chest, forces her eyes shut. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been a disgrace to the Guild.”

“H-Horde,” Catra grits out. “They’re...callin’ us th’  _ Horde. _ ”

Shadow Weaver pauses. As always, her expressions are forever concealed, wiped of any emotion and leaving Catra to guess every single step, but she’s learned enough about body language to know her life is only  _ slightly  _ on the line. “...where is Adora? I know you’ve been  _ speaking  _ to her.”

Catra barks out a laugh, and the hold on her body loosens just a bit. “Adora. It’s not just about Adora anymore. I know  _ more. _ ”

The spell falls away. Catra collapses in a heap, gasping for breath, limbs spasming as they return to use, as Shadow Weaver moves back to assess her. They lock eyes, Catra growling under her breath, and eventually Weaver looks away.

Despite cowering at Weaver’s feet, Catra has never felt more powerful.

“You will meet with Hordak and tell him everything.” Shadow Weaver beckons with a hand, and Catra obeys without trying. “Then we’ll decide if your pathetic life is worth it to the Horde.”

Catra can’t snarkily reply, before she’s being yanked through the halls by the scruff of her neck. She avoids the knowing looks of the Hordesmen they pass, and her mind transports back to being led through the cells on the way to the guillotine.

_ “Oh, that poor soul. May their soul rest in peace.” _

They’re in Hordak’s war room before she can even blink. Catra ducks her head, unable to stop the low grumbling growl from her throat. Her eyes adjust to the dimness of the room immediately, and she knows they’ve just interrupted a strategy meeting.

The Horde’s deadliest assassins, most brutal members, and captured war generals regard her with indifference. Hordak stands at the very center of the room, carefully circling something on the floor map of Etheria. He hardly looks up, despite the shadows creeping along the sides of the room, enveloping flickering torches and strategy maps along the walls.

Catra had always regarded him as a complement to Shadow Weaver’s bitter existence. The long extravagant cloak he wears swallows him in black, and searing red eyes peer out from below the hood. The gold belt at his waist is so tight, it might as well be holding him together. His ward, a nasty tattling orphan with bat wings and a vicious smile, prances around at his feet like a dog.

“Lord Hordak,” Shadow Weaver drawls, and she shoves Catra forward. Catra trips and lands on the floor with a  _ thud  _ that blows the rest of her breath out of her lungs. Exhaustion and hunger takes over and she stays on her hands and knees. “Catra has been retrieved. And she knows the whereabouts of Adora.”

Hordak pauses. The group around him exchanges glances; the name is familiar to them, considering Shadow Weaver still rants about Adora on a weekly basis.

Not to mention, Adora is now seen as an example of what  _ not  _ to do in the Horde.

“Still obsessed with the traitor?” Hordak clicks his pointing stick closed, before eyeing Catra crouched on the floor. His voice rumbles and resonates deep in her chest, commanding every set of eyes in the room except her own. “There should be no new development, Shadow Weaver. Adora has left us. She is  _ gone. _ ”

The finality in his voice means death for anyone who challenges it. But Catra silently sighs, knowing Weaver won’t let it go so easily.

“Ask the scoundrel,” Shadow Weaver sneers, and the looming silence forces Catra to look up, brilliant eyes flashing in the dark.

“You want to hear what I have?” She mutters, and all eyes fall on her. She’s a mouse in a room of cats, with one very hungry mutt staring her down. “I’ve been speaking with Adora for the past ten weeks. She’s told me details of the Bright Moon force.”

“Spill it.” Hordak’s eyes darken. Shadow Weaver shifts a bit behind her.

“Adora is the strongest soldier on the force. She’s the one the thieves call She-Ra. She’s  _ magic. _ ”

Quiet gasps lift from the silence in the room, but no one dares show anything beyond that.

She tells as much as she can. The bulletin board of flyers. The deepest dungeons that are heavily guarded with their frilly curtains and frivolous foods. Every detail Adora’s told her, down to how many new pages they’ve recruited and how many extra guards posted around the town. The stupid ramblings within long walks to the dungeon, or through cell bars, or up on the rooftop when Adora feels blissfully lenient. Hordak carefully paces around the room, hardly casting her a glance. His army listens carefully, quietly,  _ invested.  _

“I’ve interacted with another soldier beyond her,” Catra says, sitting back on her haunches, now proudly displaying the blood spattered across her torso. “Their strongest archer was a captain. I...took care of him.” 

Shadow Weaver growls, and the shadows fly, encapsulate her, chill her to the bone. Catra gasps, curling in on herself and desperately waiting for it to pass. “Lord Hordak, this  _ child  _ knows nothing! She’s insubordinate, useless to our forces, has been engaging with the enemy for nothing beyond mocking who she stands for--”

“Silence!” Hordak bites, and the air goes still. “Catra is a thief. She has no reason to listen to you.”

Weaver jolts a bit at that.

“However, she has reason to be loyal to the Horde, and she has delivered.” Hordak stares, glowing eyes locking onto Catra’s own. “Rise, Master Thief Catra.”

Catra does. 

“You have played a risky game. Though I should properly punish you for defying orders and initiating a plan without reports, I will let you off the hook just this once.” He smiles, but the curve is sardonic and menacing, and Catra lowers her chin. “Besides, my strongest members are the ones who put everything on the line. Including their own life.”

“Lord Hordak!” Shadow Weaver cries, and her shadows fly, nearly pushing aside the Hordesmen around the room. “You can’t be serious!”

“She is alive. She has given information. She has killed with no remorse.” Hordak levels Weaver with a glare, and Catra feels painfully in the way. The two lock gazes, battling for the upper hand. After a moment, Shadow Weaver’s tendrils pull away and she lowers her gaze.

“You will train her as an assassin,” Hordak commands, and Catra’s head snaps up. “Master Thief Catra, I am assigning you a battalion for our upcoming raid in five months’ time. Do not disappoint. Your information will help us, but I expect  _ more  _ from you. Do you understand?”

“More?” Catra’s aware of the shakiness in her voice, but the steely look in her eyes balances it out, she hopes. “Lord Hordak, I-- I’m wanted in the city.”

“And have been for a while. That didn’t stop you.” 

“Right.” Catra doesn’t say more. She doesn’t relay any of the petty fighting with Adora, the begging and the pleading and the fact that switching sides had  _ ever  _ slipped into Catra’s mind. “Fine. I’ll get revenge on She-ra. I’ll get what’s so special about her in this prissy little town.”

Lord Hordak  _ laughs.  _ It’s one short burst, thunderous, terrifying, but it’s approval Catra has sought for years. She smiles, knowing Weaver is utterly fuming behind her back.

“I take it you won’t disappoint.” The smile fades, his ward snickers as if knowing exactly what comes next. “If you don’t deliver, Catra, I will not hesitate to remove you from the Guild.”

Catra swallows, unintentionally eyeing the assassins looming in the corners of the room, significant with their gold-lined cloaks and murderous eyes. “...right.” The confidence in her voice has leeched out, but she doesn’t let herself bow. Not yet.

“Now. If you interrupt my meetings again, Shadow Weaver, I will  _ not be pleased. _ ” Hordak waves a hand, and Weaver snatches at Catra’s hood and practically flings her out of the room. Once the heavy doors shut, Catra can’t help the wild smile stretching over her face as she peers at Weaver’s face.

“You... _ you.”  _ Shadow Weaver hisses, gloved hands curling and uncurling as if not wrapping them around Catra’s throat took all of her restraint. “...I won’t train you!”

“You have to,” Catra snaps, her smile nearly delirious. “I’ve won! And now you’ll see Adora doesn’t hold a fucking  _ candle  _ to me.”

She expected the smack in the face, but the smile is permanent even as the sting spreads across her cheek. 

“You will  _ bring her back,”  _ Weaver curls forward, and Catra grimaces a bit at the sight. Blank white eyes, piercing into her soul. “Only then will I train you.”

“You have no choice, and you know it.”

“I am Hordak’s equal!”

“Keep telling yourself that!”

Another smack. Catra laughs at this one, and Weaver is ready to blow Catra up on the spot. Catra expects it,  _ begs for it _ , but the searing pain of death never comes. Suddenly, the tension melts and Shadow Weaver lifts her hands together. Her expression, albeit covered, is slow and methodical and Catra shifts away.

“Very well.” Her voice morphs sickly sweet, and Catra’s smile falls. “I will train you to kill She-ra instead.”

Silence. Catra doesn’t look at her, any wild feeling burrowing deep and away. “Good. That’s what I want.”

Shadow Weaver leaves, smug, unabashed despite teetering on a mental breakdown. Catra fights the urge to climb to the ceiling and hide away for good. The exhaustion in her bones force her to the ground, her cheek meeting cold dusty concrete. 

Catra wants She-ra dead. She wants Adora alive. And it’s a cruel twist of fate that they happen to be the same fucking person. She curls her claws against the floor, scraping across and leaving deep indents on the surface. 

“C-Catra!”

Catra jolts, nearly flinging herself onto her back. Kyle stands over her, somehow having found the ability to nervously jitter on up to her while she was lost in thoughts (grief? Anger? She’s so  _ tired. _ )

“The fuck you want?” She hisses. “The fuck are you doing  _ alive,  _ I thought you got caught again.”

“Rogelio broke me out.” Kyle only momentarily displays the stupid sappy look Catra has more than once threatened to swipe off. “Um...Lonnie said to find you. Bring you to the infirmary. And like, make sure you’re not dead.”

Catra growls, but the noise has no meaning anymore. She rises, ignoring Kyle’s hand, stubbornly resigning to limping in the direction of the infirmary as he rambles some nonsense behind her. Knowing her luck, Kyle would be in her battalion, along with all the weak-willed newbies that Catra has to train to prove herself. It’s all a test. Just test after test and she doesn’t know how much longer she can keep it up.

The thought makes her head spin. The room spins. She’s now very keenly aware that her legs have stopped working.

“Carry me,” she snaps, and Kyle only squawks as she promptly collapses on the floor.

\---

When the messenger comes and delivers the note, Adora already knows of the news. The entire training grounds had been buzzing since breakfast, trading tales of the mysterious criminal that escaped the jaws of death by a hair. Eventually, the facts blurred into an image of a super-strength criminal with powerful wings and laser vision and Adora stopped listening. She finishes brushing Swift Wind, puts on her light armor, and heads to the castle.

The royal guards greet her with modest bows and they take Swifty away to the stables. Ascending the steps and passing the sentries is a blur; once she’s finally beyond the doors and in the elaborate halls, Glimmer embraces her immediately.

“I’m so sorry, Glimmer,” Adora sighs, wrapping her arms around the princess. Glimmer pulls back, face tear-stained and red, noticeable bags under her eyes as if she’d awoken at the crack of dawn and hadn’t slept since. 

“It’s fine.” Glimmer’s shaky smile is 100% fabricated, but Adora pretends not to notice. “He’ll be okay. Bow just has to spend a few months up in Mystacor for healing sessions. Castaspella said things shouldn’t be permanent.” 

“I have to be sorry though. If I had known Catra had the capability, I would’ve warned you.” Adora hesitates, wringing her hands. “I forgot about her claws.”

Glimmer studies her, quiet and musing. “You seem surprised.”

“I am. Catra’s never raised a hand to me like that. When we were kids, she hated using her claws.” 

“No, I mean you seem surprised she could hold her own at all.”

Adora swallows, guilt overtaking the sheepishness, and Catra’s voice rings out at the back of her head.

_ “You underestimate me, Adora.” _

“I thought she’d given up.” Adora shakes her head, and if the helmet wasn’t weighing so heavily on her, she’d be running her hands through her hair. “I don’t know why I didn’t think that this is  _ Catra.  _ She’s merciless. She never gives up. I...I was stupid.”

“Just a little,” Glimmer teases, but she places a hand on Adora’s back and leads her down the hall. “I didn’t call you just for the news. My mother wants to speak with you.”

Adora has no time to panic as the doors to the throne room swing open and she’s pushed through. The guards, countless as always, stand stationed at every entrance, window, and corner. Glimmer and Adora are screened for imitation spells before the guards lift their spears and let them through.

Queen Angella sits on the lone throne floating in the air, long elegant wings softly glowing in the morning light. She’s relentlessly ethereal, but Adora averts her eyes and kneels as Glimmer bows.

“My Queen,” Glimmer drones. “I’ve brought Lady Adora, as requested.”

“Thank you, daughter.” Angella rises like a spectre, hardly touching the floor as she descends from the throne. The guards shift to make room as she stops a few feet away from where Adora kneels, and Adora struggles not to spew her breakfast on the royal floor.

“Rise, Lady Adora.”

Adora does.

Surely, Glimmer wouldn’t have swept Adora in for her sword and title to be swiped away, but Adora can’t tell what emotions glow and swirl in Angella’s eyes. “...good morning,” Adora squeaks, a strand of blond hair falling out into her eyes.

“I know what you have done, Lady Adora.” Queen Angella tucks arms behind her back as Adora tries to find a spot to settle her eyes. Blood rushes through her ears like a tidal wave, panic ice cold in hre veins, muscles tensing and she might as well be charging into a battle. Before she can begin the begging, Angella lifts a hand. 

“Endangering the city. Engaging with the enemy. Disregarding the careful guidelines we have put in place to keep this city running, to keep the kingdom  _ functional. _ ” The sharp edge in Angella’s voice sticks in Adora like needles in her skin. Glimmer shifts from the back of the room, not too comfortable with the situation.

“Please.” Adora’s voice wobbles, weak, pathetic.

_ “God, Adora, you’re hopeless.” _

“I didn’t think... _ please _ .” Adora doesn’t know what she’s even begging for. The memory of Catra’s eyes bore into her soul, drag through her subconscious and taunt her. She imagines Catra laughing, that beautiful war-torn noise as she revels in her victory of destroying what took Adora away.

But it’s not that easy, Adora realizes, as Angella shakes her head. No one else can be She-ra. Angella doesn’t order Adora’s execution, or yank the sword from her back, or send her into the bowels of the dungeons to never be seen again. “Adora, with any other person, I would’ve had them punished severely. But...your past has saved you.”

“I…” Adora blinks, a million thoughts colliding and merging and  _ screaming.  _ Glimmer mutters a soft apology as she slowly drifts closer.

“Lady Adora, I shed no blame on you,” Angella assures, and the tension leaks out of Adora at the words. “You did not leave the Horde. You  _ escaped.  _ And your past relationships and who you trained with may meddle, but I am proud you have not defected.”

“I would never.” Adora says it strongly, because it’s true. Painfully true, to the heartbreak of a person who sits on her windowsill and stares with brilliant eyes. “...I would never.”

“I commend your strength, She-ra.” Angella smiles, and the heaviness in the room finally begins to drop. Glimmer teleports to Angella’s side, bowing her head as Angella continues. “For your efforts, and due to the unfortunate circumstances that have befallen us, you will take Captain Bow’s duties until he can return.”

“I’m a captain?” Adora’s legs feel ready to give out on her.

“You’re gonna lead a whole battalion!” Glimmer chirps excitedly, ignoring the look from her mother. “Don’t worry, though, Aunt Castaspella still said she can see you. I’ll help you manage your time though! Gods  _ know  _ I’ve had to learn that.”

“Oh, hush,” Angella says playfully, smoothing back Glimmer’s hair and ignoring the indignant yelp in return. “Adora, you may have weekly visits up to Mystacor to review your assessments and speak to Bow as you please. I trust you will do well.”

“I will.” Adora fights past the lump in her throat, unsure of how excited she oughta be. She imagines Catra shaking her head, sneering, imposing. A proper enemy, now that she’ll be leading the forces right to Catra’s members. “...I won’t let you down, Your Majesty. I’ll see to it that Catra gets her comeuppance.”

“I hold my faith in you, She-ra.” Angella waves a hand, and the guards convene to usher Adora and Glimmer out of the room. Adora hardly finishes her bow before she’s pushed out into the hall. She hardly even  _ blinks  _ before Glimmer snags onto her arm and teleports them both into the dining hall.

Adora squeaks, her head reeling as they pop into view with a burst of sparkles. A few servants skitter away in surprise, but the dining table remains untouched, displaying a spread of fabulous pastries and rich desserts that Adora hasn’t seen in weeks.

“I figured you’d be hungry after going through a small internal crisis back there,” Glimmer pipes up, her voice edged with guilt. “I’m...sorry I told my mother. I know your past was meant to be a secret for just me and Bow but...I figured it’d help keep your title.”

Adora sighs, reaching for a donut slathered in frosting and deciding to quell the small burst of anger that’d plagued her brain for only a second. “It did. Thank you. I’m not angry, just...still trying to process.”

“I get it.” Glimmer is quiet and watches as the servants eventually withdraw back into the kitchen. Once they’re alone, she reaches for a croissant and balances it between her hands. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“I mean...I think so? My shield skills need a  _ major  _ upgrade and I don’t think I can learn a bow in time to take over properly but--”

“Not that,” Glimmer chides gently. “About...well, about your new enemy.”

Adora swallows her bite, now conscious of how it sticks in her throat. Catra being the enemy had really been her mentality since the day they discovered each other’s profession, but Adora could never bring herself to associate Catra with  _ criminals. _ “...it’s gonna be hard.”

“Can I ask if there’s something going on that I don’t know about?”

Adora shakes her head violently. A blob of frosting lands on the floor but she doesn’t care. “We’re not friends anymore. We can’t be. And...and she’s made her choice, and I made mine.”

“Okay.” Glimmer doesn’t push, pulling apart the croissant in her hands. “I just...we can’t have you distracted again. I pulled a  _ lot  _ of strings. My mom was angry. Really angry. A couple advisors said you’d be better off shipped to a different kingdom, but I told them you meant a lot to us. Because you’re She-ra.”

“Just because I’m She-ra?” Adora forgets to hide the bite in her voice.

“Not just! But...in terms of our defense system, maybe a bit.”

Another image pops up momentarily. Catra’s sneer, laced with pain and fire. “ _ Right, right. My value.” _

Adora grunts, shaking her head, forcing the thought out of her brain. It needs to stop. Catra’s image can’t keep taunting her, yelling at her, hurting her, making her wonder what truths lay in the rant. She wipes dried frosting from her fingers, unaware of how hard they’ve started shaking.

It needs to stop. It all needs to stop.

“I just have to go to Mystacor.” Adora ignores the concerned look on Glimmer’s face. “I’m gonna talk about my destiny, about my power. But I can’t keep thinking about what I mean to the kingdom right now. It’s just...it’s too much pressure.”

“That’s fair.” Glimmer nods, assuring and confident as ever. “Adora, focus on  _ you.  _ You gotta be the best you can be.”

_ For me. Just for me. For Catra,  _ Adora momentarily thinks, before she heaves a frustrated sigh. “Okay, hit me with a distraction, Glimmer.”

“Oh! The farmers next door just had some new lambs.” Glimmer smiles.

“And that wasn’t the  _ first  _ place you took me to?” Adora squawks, already clinging to Glimmer’s arm. Glimmer laughs, dropping the croissant and instantly teleporting them a few miles away.

It’s enough for now, Adora thinks, desperately attempting to get caught up in soft bleating lambs and fuzzy white fur. Despite the whispers of the farmhands and the occasional remark from Glimmer about the town defenses, Adora tries to wall herself away in the corner of the stables.

The lamb in her arms nuzzles against her, lightly nibbling on her arm, and she feels a small semblance of peace. Maybe one day, she’d have more. But for now, Adora wonders if distracting herself is all she’ll get.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sequel is already underway! Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, they fuel me~


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